


Irresistible Impulses

by footlooseandfancyfree



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Season/Series 01, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Full Shift Werewolves, Human Scott, M/M, Pack Bonding, Revenge, Sourwolf Derek Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, biweekly updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:52:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footlooseandfancyfree/pseuds/footlooseandfancyfree
Summary: Alternate Season 1, where Peter escapes from the hospital before his nurse can mess with his head and Stiles can’t leave well enough alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my comeback story. Hopefully, I haven’t lost my touch. Yes, yes, I know that there are stories left unfinished, but I’m not quite ready yet to come back to them.
> 
> Unbetad, which means all mistakes are mine. Enjoy.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you today? That’s the third time I beat you.”

Leave it to Scott to complain about winning at their favorite video game, but he has a point. It’s not natural. Granted, Scott isn’t exactly hopeless. In fact, he is quite good. He is just no match for Stiles’ nimble fingers and quick reflexes. Sure, Stiles lets Scott win every now and then, being a good friend and all that, but never three times in a row.

Well, at least not on purpose.

“I don’t know,” Stiles drops the controller into his lap, not really in the mood to play and lose another game. He has his pride after all. “I’m just kinda distracted, I guess.”

“I can see that,” Scott remarks cheekily, obliviously still riding the high of besting his friend again and again, but sensitive enough for once to realize that something is off. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Stiles deflects, hoping his friend would just drop it, but no such luck.

“Please, don’t tell me this is about Lydia,” Scott groans, slumping against the headboard. “I thought you were over her.”

“I am. Believe me, I am,” Stiles huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes for good measure. “That ship has sailed a long time ago.”

“If you say so,” Scott replies, sounding anything but convinced.

Stiles can’t really blame his friend for jumping to the conclusion that his inability to concentrate on a simple video game is about Lydia. After all, Stiles has been obsessed with the redheaded girl for nearly a decade. Sure, for the most part Stiles just wanted Lydia to like him, to be her friend, to make her see that he wasn’t a loser but her equal … well, at least in terms of intelligence. Yes, there may have been a time when he’d envisioned something more than just being friends with her, but who could blame him? Lydia is by far the hottest girl in school, going by physical aspects. Her behavior on the other hand leaves a lot to be desired. Not that he is much better in that department. His sassy attitude doesn’t exactly do him any favors. Quite the opposite actually, it usually gets him into trouble.

Anyway, the point is that Stiles is long over Lydia. And considering that she is dating a douchebag like Jackson doesn’t exactly speak volumes for the redhead’s taste in men, but Stiles doesn’t bother to point that out.

“Then what is it?” Scott prompts, his voice slightly breaking. “It’s not your dad, is it?”

Stiles is touched by his concern, but it really doesn’t come as a surprise. After Rafael McCall left his family – which hasn’t been soon enough as far as Stiles is concerned, but that’s beside the point – his dad sort of adopted Scott, taking him under his wing, providing fatherly advice whenever he feels it’s needed, or when Melissa asks him to intervene on her behalf. Sure, Scott isn’t always happy about the Noah Stilinski’s input on things, but it’s obvious that he still appreciates the gesture, deep down. Just like Stiles.

“No, my dad is okay,” Stiles assures his almost brother, adding with a sigh, “Well, as okay as he can be working too hard and trying to cheat on his diet every chance he gets.”

It’s an ongoing issue between him and his father. Of course, Stiles understands why his dad is pulling so many hours, doing more double shifts than anybody at the station. They need the money and the police station is chronically understaffed, but he still doesn’t like it. But what he detests even more is the way his father is neglecting his health. If Stiles wasn’t keeping taps on his diet, his dad would probably eat and drink himself into an early grave.

“What else is new,” Scott comments with a knowing smile. “So if this isn’t about Lydia or your dad, then what’s on your mind?”

For a moment Stiles considers lying his ass off, but Scott is his best friend, practically his brother. They may have drifted apart somewhat over the last few weeks, due to Scott’s new job at the animal clinic and his foolish infatuation with the new girl, Allison Argent, but he is still the person Stiles trusts most, aside from his dad, of course. Although, there are things he won’t tell his father, unless he is under serious duress. Well, perhaps not even then …

Not completely sure he’s making the right decision, Stiles turns towards his friend. “Do you remember that big old house in the middle of the woods?”

Scott nods, frowning. “You mean the one near the lake, the one that burnt down a couple of years ago with all those people inside?”

“Yes, that one,” Stiles confirms, wincing when Scott mentions the fatalities.

It still makes him sick to his stomach thinking about the ten people who lost their lives that day. The fire had practically wiped out one of Beacon Hills’ oldest family. Well almost. There were two survivors; Laura and Derek Hale. They had only survived because they hadn’t been there when it happened. To call that lucky is more than cruel. They may have survived, but they have lost so much, their home, their family. No wonder they left town shortly after. Stiles had felt the same after his mom’s death, wanting to run and hide, to escape the memories, the grief, the uncomfortable stares and never-ending pity …

The papers had called the fire a tragic accident, blaming faulty wiring or something along the line, but Stiles has never believed it. He may have been only ten years old at the time, but even then he knew that it was odd that none of them had made it out. Even if something had short circuited, why hadn’t they managed to get out in time before the whole house had caught on fire? Or at least had called for help? It didn’t make sense. He had told his father as much and for once he had managed to get his full attention. His dad had tried his best, looking into the matter more thoroughly than it was required for a deputy, but there wasn’t enough evidence to contradict the fire department’s report. Maybe if he’d been the sheriff at the time, he might have accomplished more, but that’s neither here nor there. What’s done is done. The investigation had been closed two weeks after the incident and everyone involved had moved on to deal with more important things.

“I think someone is living there.”

“I doubt that,” Scott argues. “The house must be a safety hazard. I never understood why they didn’t just demolish the thing. And how would you know? The area is private property.”

Of course, Stiles is aware of that minor detail. Despite the fact that no one has been living there for more than six years, a good part of the preserve still belongs to the Hale family. It’s still off limits. Well, legally speaking. But just because something is technically forbidden doesn’t stop Stiles from pursuing it. It never has. His mother – may she rest in peace – always thought his audacious behavior was cute, his father on the other hand … not so much. It might have something to do with his profession.

“I kinda lost my way in the woods and ended up there …”

“Yeah, right,” Scott scoffs, not buying a word, and for good reason.

Just like any other teenager, or most adults for that matter, Stiles is literally attached to his cell phone, never going anywhere without it, always making sure the battery is fully loaded when he leaves the house. And it’s not like there isn’t any cell reception in the woods. He could have easily used the navigation App to find his way back.

“So what exactly did you see? You didn’t go in, did you?”

“Of course not,” Stiles quickly reassures his friend, who is starting to look a little pale and is breathing more raggedly. Stiles shakes his head in disbelieve, when Scott actually reaches for his inhaler. Sometimes his friend gets himself worked up over nothing. “I’m not stupid. The building looks like it will collapse like a house of cards if someone blows on it.”

Okay, maybe he is exaggerating a bit. Sure, the house doesn’t look anything like it used to – pristine, welcoming and warm, like a home – but it’s far from unsalvageable. After all, it’s survived the major storm two years ago and is still standing. A bit of paint, a few new windows, a new roof, some touch-ups here and there and the house would be good as new.

The interior, though, probably needs more work, not that Stiles would know. He didn’t even make it up the stairs, too freaked out by the scenery and the lingering contrail of sorrow hanging in the air.

“It could be an animal,” Scott muses, clearly still not comfortable with the whole subject, but willing to play along.

“Yeah, probably,” Stiles agrees. “It didn’t exactly sound like a human. There was a lot of scratching and sniffing, and even some howling. Maybe it’s a ghost.”

“There is no such thing,” Scott scoffs, adding, “Although, that might actually be cool.”

“Sure, until it rips you to pieces,” Stiles snorts. “Remember last episode of Supernatural?”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Scott concedes, cringing. Stiles might be enjoying his friend’s horrid facial expression more than he probably should. “Just promise me that you are not going back there.”

“I promise.”

“Stiles,” Scott implores, tilting his head ever so slightly, staring at Stiles with his big, brown eyes. He may be an asthmatic and a looser according to high school hierarchy, but he certainly has a secret power. His puppy eyes, a look which is almost impossible to resist. Almost.

“I promise, Scotty,” Stiles repeats, putting more emphasis on his pledge this time. “I will not go back to the house.”

“Okay,” Scott nods, somewhat appeased and clearly ready for a change of subject. “You up for another epic fail?”

“You wish,” Stiles grins, picking up his controller. “Let me show you how it’s really done.”

Needless to say, much to his Scott’s dismay, he put an end to his winning streak, and fast.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the great responses I got for the first chapter and the kudos you left.
> 
> Hopefully, you still think the same after reading the next chapter.
> 
> Conveying how troubled Stiles is, without painting the wrong picture about his character, wasn't easy. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Enjoy.

In his defense Stiles doesn’t actually _plan_ to go back on his word.

Of course, he’s still curious about the place and wants nothing more than to find out, what or _who_ is hiding in the ramshackle house. Granted, Scott is probably right. It makes more sense that it’s some kind of animal, most likely a stray dog, but Stiles still hasn’t completely ruled out the possibility that it’s a human, some poor shmuck who has nowhere else to go …

The thought is depressing as hell.

Maybe that’s why the compulsion to venture back into the woods is so strong that it’s nearly impossible to ignore. And not just during the day, but at night as well. Usually, Stiles is a very heavy sleeper, not even waking up when it storms like crazy or his dad comes home from his night shifts. But now he hasn’t been able to sleep through the night for an entire week, not since the day he went to the Hale house. And then there are the weird dreams he’s been having, which he can’t seem to remember. At least not the specifics, just some fuzzy images about red eyes, sharp claws and black fur …

It’s both bizarre and utterly annoying.

But even though Stiles is tired and grumpy all week, he is intent on keeping his promise.

He goes to school every day, trying his best to pay attention throughout the endless, boring lectures. Needless to say, he barely succeeds. Even with the two cups of coffee he has in the morning in addition to his daily dose of Adderall, he is a mess. Bleary-eyed and jittery is clearly not the best combination to get through a high school day. How he managed to ace his chem test on Monday is still beyond him, but Stiles certainly doesn’t complain. Quite the opposite, he takes great pleasure seeing Harris’ disgruntled face when he hands over his graded paper the next day. And when Stiles notices Lydia resentful look, he smirks at her. Sure, he has no intention to make valedictorian, but knowing that he could, considering that he is her only real competition, not to mention the fact that she would hate it, gives him a warm and fuzzy feeling.

Maybe that makes him seem kinda vindictive, childish even, but hey, he deserves to be a little gleeful. After all, he doesn’t exactly have much fun these days.

Case in point, his ingenious idea to avoid temptation …

Normally, Stiles would go right home after his last class ends. And why shouldn’t he? It’s not like he has any reason stay behind. Sure, he used to, but he’s quit lacrosse months ago, and not just because he sucks at the game. Sitting on the bench, watching the other team members have all the fun, only being allowed on the field to do laps and sit ups, well, it’s not what he’d signed up for. He still goes to the skirmishes, though, cheering for their team, despite the fact that Scott rarely gets the chance to play, but he usually doesn’t bother to watch them practice. It’s way too depressing and actually kinda boring.

This week, though, Stiles swallows his pride and walks down to the bleachers each and every afternoon. Strangely enough, nobody seems to mind or even bothers to acknowledge his presence, least of all Coach Finstock. But what else is new? Scott, on the other hand, is obviously thrilled to have some company other than Greenberg.

Biting his tongue, Stiles listens to Scott whine about the very same reason why he decided to quit the team in the first place. It gets even worse when Scott switches subjects and starts waxing poetry about Allison’s long, dark hair and her fair skin. But even though it’s pure torture and his patience is wearing thin, Stiles sits tight, endures it all, because he knows he needs to keep himself occupied before he does something he will probably regret.

On Friday, though, all bets are off.

 

\+ + + + +

 

In all honesty, Stiles never thought the day would come, but somehow, despite the fact that they run in different social circles, Scott does manage to get a date with Allison. Well, actually a double date with Lydia and Jackson.

From the looks of it, it’s not a ruse, well at least not on Allison’s part. She actually seems to be interested in his best friend, going by the (semi) private smiles she shares with him whenever they cross path in the hallway. But still, for some reason the idea of them hitting it off doesn’t sit well with him.

“So, what’s the plan?” Stiles asks, doing his best to fake interest, while pulling books out of his locker and stuffing them into his bag back.

“We’re going bowling.”

“Bowling?” Stiles mocks. “Jackson is going to wipe the floor with you.”

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Scott protests, pouting. “And it’s not about winning.”

“Sure, whatever,” Stiles huffs, slinging his bag pack over his shoulder and slamming the locker shut. It takes him a few tries to actually close the combination lock by scrambling the dials, cursing under his breath the entire time. His anything but easygoing behavior doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What’s up with you? I thought you would be happy for me,” Scott complains, frowning. “Are you … jealous?”

“Hardly,” Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes. “Spending Friday night with Jackson fucking Whittemore isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”

“It wasn’t my choice, either,” Scott says, quickly defending himself. “Lydia insisted that we make it a double date, and you know as well as I do that no one says no to her. And just for the record, I hate Jackson just as much as you do. I just want to spend time with Allison, get to know her, any way I can. And if that means hanging out with Jackson for one night and listen to him brag about being Coach’s favorite, so be it.”

Stiles is kinda impressed by Scott’s rant, but doesn’t say anything in return. Of course, he knows that if it were up to him Scott wouldn’t take Allison to a place where he is likely going to make a fool of himself. He probably would rather take her to the animal clinic and show her how great he is at taking care of sick dogs and cats, the big softy.

“Please, Stiles, this is important to me.”

“I know,” Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“So, you are not mad at me?” Scott presses, clearly needing more than a simple apology for his rude behavior.

“No, of course not,” Stiles assures him. “I’m happy for you, man.”

It’s not a lie. Well, not really. Of course, he is happy for Scott. He’s got a date with the girl of his dreams. What kind of friend would he be if he wasn’t supportive? True, there’s still something about the Argent girl that bugs him, but for the moment he chalks it up to not knowing her. New people always have that effect on him. They make him nervous, wary, downright suspicious, a trade he most likely did inherit from his father. But then again, if the date tonight goes well, he’ll probably have a chance to get to know her (read: interrogate her).

“Thanks.”

“No need to thank me,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “Just do me one favor.”

“Anything,” Scott eagerly agrees.

“If you get the chance, drop a bowling ball on the jerk’s foot.”

“Deal,” Scott replies, mirroring Stiles’ shit-eating grin.

They bump fists, before walking side by side towards the exit, following the stream of students, who are clearly just as psyched to start their weekend.

 

\+ + + + +

 

“When you make promises, always be sure that you can keep them, otherwise they are just empty words.”

Stiles’ mother was never one to scold or discipline him. She was more subtle than that, rather taking the time and effort to sit him down and calmly explain that certain actions could have serious consequences and he’d better be sure before he’d make the wrong decision. Even when her medication made her to sick to get out of bed, she was always there for him, listening to babble about anything and everything, right until the very end.

He misses her, each and every day, but now more than ever.

Of course, his dad isn’t a bad father. In fact, he is doing pretty great, considering he is a widower and a single parent, not to mention an authority figure, but he doesn’t possess Claudia’s serenity or patience.

Maybe that’s the reason why Stiles’ mind is made up by the time he gets home. Because there’s nobody there to stop him, to make him think twice before going back on his word and do something stupid. Then again, that’s probably just an excuse.

As soon as he made the promise to stay away from the Hale house, Stiles knew that he was going to break it, sooner or later. It’s not that he is a compulsive liar. In fact, he thinks of himself as very trustworthy, great at keeping secrets, but in this case going back on his word was inevitable. If he has one major flaw it’s his curiosity, his urge to get to the bottom of things, to turn each stone until he finds out the truth.

And it’s not like Stiles has anything else to do, other than sitting in an empty house. Scott is on a date and his dad is working the late shift. Sure, he could finish his homework or watch some porn, but there’s always time for that later. And yes, initially, he’d planned to make dinner, cook something healthy, with a lot of vegetables and no meat, something his dad would hate but eat nonetheless as soon as he’d come home, but when Scott dropped his bomb (aka announcing that he has a date with the Argent girl), Stiles abandons that plan as well.

Instead he immediately makes a beeline for his room and empties the contents of his school bag on his bed, not caring when half of the stuff tumbles over the edge and ends up on the floor. He’ll clean it up later. Then he goes into the kitchen, grabs a few snacks and a bottle of water, stuffing them into his bag. He also adds a flashlight and a pocketknife, just to be safe. He would have preferred to take something more lethal, but even though his dad is the sheriff, there are no weapons in the house. Safe for the cutlery in the kitchen drawers and the tool box in the basement, that is.

The last thing Stiles does before he leaves the house again is checking the batteries on his phone. He may not have a crossbow or a gun, or even a baseball bat, but at least he has his phone. All he has to do is hit one on speed dial. His father may be mad at him for breaking the law by trespassing on Hale property, but there’s no doubt in Stiles’ mind that he would drop everything and come to his son’s aid, if needed.

Just like he would do if their situations were reversed …

 

\+ + + + +

 

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Stiles tries his best to stick to speed limit.

It’s not easy, but he knows that he can’t chance it getting pulled over. It would spoil his plan, not to mention the fact that he would probably end up being grounded for weeks. Both of which would suck.

But still, time is of the essence.

There is no point denying the truth, Stiles is probably too curious for his own good, but he is not stupid, or suicidal. If he is going venture back into the woods, he is doing it while it’s still light outside. And the clock is ticking. It’s already three in the afternoon. He’s got only four hours left before the sun will go down. Sure, it should be enough time to get to the house, do a little snooping and get back on the road, but Stiles knows how easily he gets sidetracked and loses track of time. It has happened before, numerous times, though under different, much less precarious circumstances.

Sure, there is a quicker way to get to the house. A road, straight through the woods, leading directly to the clearing, but Stiles deliberately decides to take a detour. After all, Scott has a point. The whole area around the house is still private property. Venturing there on foot is one thing, easily explained away, but driving his car directly to the front door … not so much. So instead of taking the short cut, he drives east and parks his car behind an abandoned factory building, far away from prying eyes. From there he makes his way on foot.

The deeper Stiles walks into the woods the more nervous be becomes. It’s not that he is frightened, just anxious, even though there is no reason to be, logically speaking. Sure, there have been some hunting accidents in the past, but otherwise the woods are known to be a safe place. Well, unless you are a total klutz, prone to trip over your own feet. Then it’s a death trap waiting to happen, which is why Stiles walks slowly, cautiously putting one foot before the other. Better safe than ending up with a twisted ankle and being forced to call for help, right?

In the end it takes him almost forty minutes to get to the Hale house. It could have been worse, but thanks to the GPS on his phone, Stiles doesn’t get lost. Still, when he finally stumbles into the clearing, he lets out a deep-felt sigh of relieve.

It’s eerily quiet, just like it was the first time he ended up here. It wasn’t a complete lie when he told Scott he had found the house by accident. Unlike now, he wasn’t looking for it on purpose that day, just walking aimlessly through the woods, trying to clear his head after having a bad day. It’s not something he hasn’t done before. In fact, right after his mom died, he used to spend hours walking around town, ending up in the woods more often than not. No one has ever stopped him, not his dad or the Hales, everyone giving him a wide berth for the first few weeks after the funeral. And yet, he has never been drawn to a certain place in the woods …

As far as Stiles can tell, there are no birds or any other animal life in the immediate vicinity, like every living thing is avoiding the place. Even the plants seem to wither and die in the area, despite the fact that it just rained a couple of days ago. It’s weird, almost like the place is cursed, or something, which makes complete sense after what happened here. Well, at least to Stiles.

But even though the place is still giving him the shivers, it doesn’t make him turn around and run away. It only seems to draw him closer. And it’s not like he has seen it before. The house looks pretty much the same.

Well, except for one thing.

Stiles could swear that the front door was shut the last time he was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger, well, kinda. Next: A peek into Peter’s mindset.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the fact that people at the hospital know Peter’s identity. I never understood why, in the show, the hunters didn’t just go after him while he was lying helplessly in the hospital bed, but on the other hand if they had, we would have missed out on a great character and the only other comic relief besides Stiles.
> 
> Anyway, I hope I did it right, portraying Peter as the scheming genius that he is, but making him more sympathetic.
> 
> Enjoy.

_A few weeks earlier …_

 

He can smell her even before she comes through the door.

Sure, the hospital stench is strong and nauseating – a typical mix of disinfectant, blood, urine, cleaning solutions and people – but her smell still stands out. It’s not the perfume she wears, though it’s incredibly cheap, but her natural scent. It makes his hackles rise and his instincts kick in.

In a word, she smells _off_.

“And how are we doing tonight, Mr. Smith?”

It’s the same procedure every night, going on for months now. She walks into his room, asks her question and waits for him to react in any way, shape or form, but Peter never gives her the satisfaction. He doesn’t even blink. Sure, there is the almost irresistible urge to correct her, or any other person who dares to address him by the fake name – after all, names are important as they are essential part of one’s identity – but he knows it’s imperative that he keeps up the ruse, at least for a little bit longer.

Of course, he is only pretending to be catatonic. He is doing much better now, but he hasn’t gained his full strength, not yet anyway. A few more weeks, maybe a month or two and he’ll be finally ready to leave this place. After being stuck here for almost six years, it’s certainly about time.

It could have been worse, though. Instead of dumping him at Beacon Hills Memorial, his niece and nephew could have had him committed at Eichen House, and getting out of that hellhole is sheer impossible. Peter may not have been there in person, but he knows what’s going on a certain level and which precautions are set in place to prevent supernatural creatures from escaping the confines.

He’d have rather been left for dead than being locked up in that place for life.

But he really can’t let himself think about any of that, not with HER in the room, because every time Peter _does_ think about the fire and its ramifications, he gets angry. Really angry. And when that happens, he can’t control himself. His features change, his claws lengthen, his gums flare with the burn of his fangs punching through, the whole werewolf shebang. It has happened once or twice before and he almost got caught both times. Which is why Peter tries to repress his feelings as best as he can, because if he fails to keep a lid on them he will probably hurt someone in the process.

Granted, he has never really been one to shed a tear when a human got caught in the crossfire, especially one that posed a threat to his kind, but under the circumstances, he might harm an innocent. Something he strangely isn’t comfortable with anymore …

So instead of letting his rage, his sorrow, his undying thirst for revenge rule his every decision, Peter decides to do the smart thing.

Put his natural gifts to good use.

 

\+ + + + +

 

Ever since he woke up from his coma, Peter has been paying _very_ close attention to the people around him, watching them from the corner of his eyes, listening to them chitchat, picking up vital information about the current events in town, and above else, carefully cataloguing all of his findings about his night nurse.

It’s pretty obvious that she is not part of the supernatural world, not in the literal sense anyway, but she clearly seems to have some inside knowledge.

Sure, she hasn’t said or done anything incriminating, but still the way she behaves around him speaks volumes. She clearly knows that werewolves like most supernatural creatures have perfect hearing. She always talks very quietly, almost whispers, but still expects him to react.

And then there is the other thing.

Among the people who are privy to their existence it’s common knowledge that werewolves, like real wolves, are very tactile, always seeking the touch of others. Well, others they like. Skin contact provides comfort and emotional support, not to mention that it’s vital in healing injuries, especially when the wounds are deep and toxins like wolfsbane or mistletoe are involved. There is no doubt in his mind, that he would have healed much faster if he’d been around his pack, or what’s left of it. The presence of a mate would have been even better, but he doesn’t have one, never had. A fact, Peter considers a blessing.

She doesn’t dare to do something inappropriate, though, probably too scared about how he might react. Smart girl. But she is still way too touchy-feely for his taste. It takes everything in his power not to cringe or lash out every time her skin touches his.

To an outsider it might look and sound like she is all nice and sweet, dutifully doing her job while treating him with utmost respect but he knows it’s just an act. He even doubts Jennifer is her real name. He may not have access to a computer so that he can confirm his suspicion, but then again he doesn’t really need to. He knows a conman when he sees one. Everything about her tells him she isn’t who she claims to be, or at the very least that she has ulterior motives. Otherwise, why would she behave the way she does?

Sure, she could just be attracted to him, and who could blame her. He is a handsome devil. Well, he used to be, before the fire, but he will get there again, in time.

But the point is there used to be a rotation, a different nurse every other day to check up on him, now it’s only her, at least in the evenings. It’s not like he preferred one of the other nurses or anything. Although there’s one he is been rather fond of. Her name is Melissa. She always smelled nice and didn’t set his teeth on edge. For a total stranger and a human, her presence had been oddly soothing.

And then there was this girl, a very shy one, apparently a patient herself, who somehow found her way into his room one day and kept coming back. She never talked to him, just sitting by his bedside with her nose in a book. Despite her weird choice of reading material (mostly fairy tales and other children’s books), he didn’t mind her presence either. Sure, unlike with Melissa, he could sense something about her, a great and deadly power slumbering inside her, but he didn’t feel threatened. Until this very day he still isn’t one hundred percent sure whether she isn’t aware of her power or if she’s suppressing it on purpose by taking lots and lots of medication.

Anyway, the bottom line is, since the day Jennifer has made her first appearance neither one of them has come back.

Just two more reasons to detest her.

 

\+ + + + +

 

Something is different today, though.

Sure, it’s become very clear to Peter over the last few days that she’s becoming more and more frustrated, anxious even, like she is under some sort of time pressure. But still, it’s a bit of a surprise when she suddenly changes tactics. Instead of huffing as usual, she smiles and walks over to the window, pulling the drapes open.

“It’s such a nice night outside,” she states, like a mother coaxing her child away from its computer and trying to convince it to play outside for once. “How about we take a stroll through the garden?”

It doesn’t really sound like a suggestion, more like demand. But even though it goes against his very nature, Peter stays quiet, doesn’t react at all, as usual. It goes without saying that he’s he still braces himself, because there is something in her voice he doesn’t like at all, but for the moment he decides to just go with the flow, see where this leads, or rather where _she_ is going to take him. So he lets her roll his chair out of his room and down the hallway. Nobody stops her, not even the other nurses at the reception. Unfortunately, Melissa isn’t there. He might not know her that well, but he’s sure that she would have said something, at least question his kidnapper’s intention.

There is a small garden in the backyard, with a few benches scattered around, but she doesn’t stop at any of them to take a seat. No, she just keeps pushing his wheelchair forwards, straight into the woods behind the hospital. He doesn’t like the whole cloak-and-dagger thing, but he gets it. She doesn’t want any witnesses. And given that the woods are thick and that’s already dark outside, he can’t really blame her for taking this – whatever her plan is – far away from prying eyes.

The chair wobbles across the uneven path, making him glad that he didn’t have dinner yet, because there’s a good chance he might have actually puked. But more than that it’s really hard for him not to grab the handles and steady himself. When they finally reach a small meadow, she stops and moves around to face him.

“Well, here we are,” she announces, gesturing around. “Back in your natural environment.”

It’s unclear whether she means it as joke or if she’s actually serious, but it doesn’t really matter at the moment. Obviously, she had assumed that the change of venue would have some effect on him. And it does, but probably not exactly in the way she’d hoped.

“Come on, Peter. We both know who you are, _what_ you are. So why don’t you drop the act and get out of that chair.”

Again, it’s not a suggestion, but another demand, one he also chooses to ignore.

“I still don’t know why I’m the only one who figured out who you really are,” she continues, shaking her head. “I mean who uses Smith as pseudonym. It’s so … obvious.”

He has to agree with her there. It’s not very creative, but it’s a plan that has been set up in motion years ago. Considering, they have been a hunted species, for centuries, he and his sister had set up false identities for each and every one of their pack, just in case it would become necessary and they had to go underground. And maybe the name Smith is too generic, too common, but that’s what also makes it the perfect choice. They could hide among hundreds of thousands of people, instead of just a handful.

“And really, a car crashed victim, suffering from severe burns, two days after a house burned down in the middle of the woods …”

He doesn’t really remember the first days after the fire, just some bits and pieces, like Deaton trying to tend to his injuries, but quickly realizing that he is out of his depth. Peter vividly remembers all of them arguing about what to do, but eventually agreeing that he should be taken to a real hospital, before he finally lapsed into a coma.

“Though, they probably don’t know you very well,” she muses, reaching out to let her fingers dance over the still disfigured right side of his face. It doesn’t hurt, but he still wants to turn his head and bite off her fingers. How dare she touch him so intimately?

It’s true, though. He hasn’t spent much time around the town’s people, being away on pack business more often than not, which is probably why no one has recognized him yet. But the question is how does SHE know?

“I understand why you are still pretending to be sick. You want to gather all of your strength, make sure you are at your best game before you take action. And it’s smart, I’ll give you that, but I think you should reconsider your plan, whatever it is, because it might be too late for it to work. The Argents moved back into town last week and …”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Peter is out of his chair and has her by the throat before she even has the chance to scream.

“And what? You are going to rat me out?” he asks, his voice calm but deadly serious.

“No,” she chokes, struggling against his tight hold. “I …” argh “… won’t. I’m …” awk “… not a hunter.”

“And why should I believe you?” he growls, slightly loosening his grip on her, but not letting go completely.

“Please,” she begs, tears streaming down her face. “I only want to help you. You need me.”

“I highly doubt that,” Peter snorts.

“You do,” she argues vehemently. “You may be an Alpha, but you don’t have a pack …”

So, that’s what she has been after all this time. She wants to join his pack, to become like him. But only an Alpha has the power to turn a human.

Only an Alpha.

An _Alpha_.

That’s what she called him. Why would she do that? Unless …

Still baffled, but utterly excited by the idea, Peter looks up. The moon is high in the sky, bright and full once more, fueling him with power. Power he has never felt before, not consciously at least. The urge to shift, and run, and howl so strong, it’s nearly impossible to keep it in check. Sure, for the last few months there has been an almost persistent itch under his skin, but he always blamed it on his years of imprisonment. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Against all odd, his sister’s inheritance had been transferred to him.

“You are right. I’m the Alpha now,” he grins at her, wriggling his fingers in position before sinking his claws into the back of her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger, sorry :) The story will continue with the another Peter chapter before we get back to where we left off with Stiles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure you are all curious what Peter did to the nurse, but I will only say that much. She is not dead and will probably make a reappearance …
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter was never meant to be the Alpha.

In their family line the spark, or whatever you wanna call it, was typically passed down from mother to daughter, going back generations. Sure, there have been a few male Alphas over the years, but none of inherited the power naturally. They usually stole it by killing another Alpha. Needless to say, most of them didn’t get the chance to enjoy their new fond power for long, either loosing it the same way they took it or getting killed by hunters for their reckless behavior.

Simply put, male Alphas in their family didn’t have a great track record, which is why Peter never _really_ considered following in their footsteps.

Of course, there were times when he resented his sister for inheriting the Alpha power instead of him. He was especially hard on her in his teens, though that’s easily explained away. Sure, basically werewolves have to deal with same behavior issues like (most) human teenagers do – being surly, moody, argumentative and flippant, rebelling against everyone and everything, letting their hormones do the thinking, while trying to find their own identity – but on top of all that they also have to come to terms what it means to be a werewolf and how to find a healthy balance between the Human and Wolf side of their personality.

It’s been a long, bumpy road, but in the end Peter got over his jealousy issues, realizing that he’d actually dodged a bullet.

Being the Hale Alpha meant taking care of _all_ the pack’s problems, not just the ones that dealt with external threats. It meant listening to the pack members bitch and whine, playing sounding board and mediator each and every day, sometimes even being their anchor during the full moon. But more importantly it meant procreating, ensuring that their family line would continue, and that’s something he never wanted. Sure, Peter loved his nieces and nephew, especially Cora, but it became very clear to him after being forced to babysit them on one too many occasions, that he wasn’t exactly father material. He preferred being the fun and cool uncle instead.

In any case, as the second born, more than fifteen years younger than his sister Talia, Peter was always destined to assume another role in the pack, one he was better suited for anyway. Making sure, that their alliances with other packs in the country, and even abroad, were upheld or, if necessary, renewed. He loved his assignment, and not just because he is really good at it, but because there was so much travelling involved. He particularly enjoyed his trips to South America. Life down there was different and definitely harder than it is for most people in the States, but the scenery and the people made up for all the ugliness.

Peter didn’t really mind being away from the pack for long periods of time, sometimes spending months away, but he always came back, and not just for birthdays and holidays. Beacon Hills might just be another small town in California for some people, but for him, it was home, the place where he truly belonged. Whenever he returned, bringing back a bag full souvenirs and stories, he always received a warm, open-armed welcome from everyone. Even Derek, who was usually grumpy around him, or anyone for that matter, couldn’t hide the fact that he was pleased to have his uncle back.

As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

But that was then …

Now the motto sounds like a crappy Hallmark card. It may have applied once, but not anymore, not after being abandoned like a piece of garbage, or an unwanted pet, at the side of the road. _Literally._ How could he trust them again after what they did to him? Sure, the nurse was right, without a pack of his own, he would probably never reach his full potential, but for the moment, it doesn’t matter. He is still stronger than any Beta.

And anyway, he has more important things to deal with right now than worrying about building a pack or reconnecting with Laura and Derek.

Finding out why the Argents came back to Beacon Hills and plotting his revenge.

 

\+ + + + +

 

Ditching the nurse in the clearing and taking off may not have been a wise choice in the long run, but it’s better than the alternative. With the hunters back in town, he can’t just go around and kill people and leave their bodies to be found. He needs to be smarter than that.

And going back to his hospital room is also out of the question, even if it meant for just a few hours. He’s simply too excited, too keyed up to be locked up again. Now that he is finally free, Peter just wants to enjoy the moment and not think about tomorrow or even the next day. And he really wants to find out, if the unexpected upgrade to an Alpha means he would finally be able to accomplish something he’s strived to achieve for all his life.

The full shift.

Because their bloodline is so old, it’s not unheard of that a Beta manages to do it, like his youngest niece for example, but for some reason he’s never gotten the hang of it. And he’d tried, oh boy, did he try, failing each and every time. Eventually, he just gave up.

But now things are different. Being able to shift into a wolf is part of the whole Alpha package, literally wired into their genetic make-up. He’s never met one, who wasn’t able to do it. But still, as thrilled as he is about the idea, Peter doesn’t try to shift right away, just lets his muscles get used to the exercise he’s been denied for years. Of course, every since he woke up from the coma, which was 2 years ago, he would do some workout, whenever it was safe to move around the room and not be overheard by the hospital staff. A few sit- and push-ups, here and there, were enough to take the edge off, but not nearly enough to keep him in top shape.

Peter always loved running through the woods, alone or with his pack. But now it feels like a rush, like he’s getting even more pleasure from it than he used to. Sure, his legs still feel like jelly when he pushes himself forward, trying to go faster, but he simply powers through the discomfort, not even noticing the twigs and stones digging into the bare soles of his feet.

After five miles or so, Peter finally does let go and allows the shift to take over.

True, his sister had told him that the first time would be the hardest, but he certainly didn’t expect it to hurt _this_ much. For a moment he flashes back to being trapped at the house, remembering the flames licking at his skin, trying their best to scorch him alive. Strangely enough, this feels even worse. He can practically hear all of the bones in his body break and heal, over and over again, before they finally reshape themselves into something different. When it’s over and he is on four legs at last, his hospital clothes ripped and scattered all around him, Peter lets out a sigh of relief, which, he has to admit, actually sounds more like a whimper.

It’s a strange feeling, to say the least. His sister always made it look so natural, the shift and the way she moved around as a wolf. She would probably laugh her ass off, if she could see him right now, taking his first step and shaking like a newborn deer. Cora would probably tease him by calling him Bambi. It’s an accurate description, though, the way he stumbles over the forest floor, falling down and landing on his stomach more than once.

It takes him an hour or so to get used to walking on four legs instead of two. But even though he feels steady enough, he doesn’t take off again right away. Since he doesn’t want to carry them with him, he takes a few minutes to bury the scraps of his clothes underneath a tree. Feeling slightly weird about it, but knowing it’s the only way to cover up his scent, he also pees on the dirt. Only when he’s satisfied that there’s no viable evidence to be found, by any humans or search dogs, he goes back to racing through the woods.

It feels different, more _natural_ , but maybe that’s just to be expected, given that he’s currently a forest animal. Sure, maybe one that hasn’t been native in the area for more than a century, but still the fact remains the same. He feels liberated, finally free of all the restraints that have been put on him, or he put on himself.

True, giving oneself over to the wolf completely can be risky, even dangerous, but for the moment Peter feels nothing but peace and serenity, even if the whole tongue lolling out thing is a bit weird.

He is not thinking about where he is going, just zigzagging through the woods, but even though he doesn’t have a specific destination in mind, it doesn’t really come as a surprise when he suddenly finds himself in a very familiar clearing. In a way it was bound to happen.

Peter stops to a halt and sits back on his hinges, staring at the house which used to be his home. It’s hard to look it and not hear the screams of his pack members, his family, being trapped in there, desperate to find a way out but failing. If only he would have been stronger, faster, he could have saved them all, and not just himself.

His whole body trembles with guilt and grief. He doesn’t even try to hold back, just lets his whimpers amplify in volume until he throws his head back and howls. It’s loud, really loud, echoing through the woods, probably for miles and miles. It’s not a cry for help, but an outlet for all those emotions he’s been keeping bottled up for years. His pain and sorrow, his rage … There is no answer, no sign that anyone has heard him, just deafening silence.

Eventually, he quiets down, his howls reduced to the occasional whine.

Not quite ready to enter the house yet, Peter trots up the stairs and curls up in front of the door, settling in for the rest of the night. But even though he feels exhausted beyond measure, it still takes him a long time to fall asleep.

 

\+ + + + +

 

_Two weeks later …_

 

The day starts like any other day.

As soon as he wakes up, Peter runs the perimeter, checking if someone had dared to enter his territory during the night, but like always he finds no signs of trespassing. Of course, he’s glad about it, but at the same time it sets his teeth on edge, because at this point he is convinced that the Argents are they just trying to lull him into a false sense of security. But maybe they really have no idea that he’d survived the fire …

Of course, Peter has gone into town a couple of times, always under the cover of darkness, but unfortunately so far he hasn't been very successful on his reconnaissance missions. But at least he managed to retrieve some much needed items from the family vault hidden underneath the Beacon Hills High School. So, all in all, his trips haven't been completely in vain.

Anyway, on his way back to the house, Peter chases down a rabbit, eating it raw. Not exactly his preferred choice of breakfast, but he couldn’t exactly walk into town and get a cup of coffee and some bagels.

It’s a nice day outside. Sure, a bit more chilly than usual, but that’s to be expected at the end of October. Then again, it could be below zero and he still wouldn’t be bothered. After all, most of these days he is wearing a thick fur coat, protecting him from feeling cold. It’s nice and comfy, not to mention practical since he doesn’t have a lot of clothes and can’t actually go to a laundromat to get them cleaned.

But eventually he shifts back into his human form and pulls on some shorts, because as much as he prefers his wolf form, it has its drawbacks. Sure, he can still read, but turning a page, without opposable thumbs, well, that’s a bitch. Not to mention, using a computer.

Like usual, Peter spends most of his day online. He checks his accounts, the ones his family didn’t have any knowledge about, utterly pleased when he discovers that his careful investments have actually panned out. He already has some ideas what to do with the money, but for now he leaves his accounts untouched, because he can’t plan that far ahead. He also tries to find out more about his former night nurse, and succeeds to some extent. And of course, he tries to uncover the reason why the Argents came back to Beacon Hills, when the area is allegedly void of any supernatural creature. Needless to say, he hasn’t had much luck in that department, but at least he found out, it’s only three of them, Chris and his wife Victoria, and their teenage daughter Allison. It’s not enough to make him feel safe, but it could have been worse … He also checks the local news reports on a daily basis. So far, the police are still looking for him but they have no clue who he really is or where to look for him, which is definitely a good thing.

Completely absorbed in his research, Peter doesn’t notice the trespasser at first, which is kinda odd, considering how extra careful he is these days, but when he does, he immediately he changes back into a wolf and moves towards the window. From his old room on the second floor he has the best few over the front yard, without being seen from the outside.

It’s just a teenage boy, standing in the yard, a few feet away from the steps. He looks kinda lost, but maybe he isn’t.

Just to be sure, Peter takes another whiff, scenting the air for any other intruders, but there is no one else, which is good, but doesn’t set his mind at rest. Who is he? What is he doing here? Why did he come here? How did he find this place?

The weird thing is, even though he can’t really place his face, he vaguely remembers the boy’s scent. It’s definitely someone who has been living in town for years, maybe even interacted with his family on some point or another. Going by his age, there’s a good chance Cora went to school with him. So he is probably not a threat, but still, it doesn’t change the fact, that Peter doesn’t want him here.

Pacing back and forth, constantly snarling under his breath, he keeps a close eye on the boy, prepared to take immediate action if necessary. But as it turns out, there’s no need to reveal himself, because when the boy tries to take another step forward, Peter’ growls intensify in volume and he does the only smart thing.

He bolts, Peter’s howl of glee probably following all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t really a cliffhanger, is it? Next: Back to where we left off with Stiles, which means he and Peter will finally meet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but this chapter was a little harder to write than I thought. Anyway, thanks for all the great responses and the numerous kudos you left. It certainly helps my muse to stay focused and not wander off again.
> 
> Without any further ado – here is the chapter you’ve all been waiting for. Stiles’ and Peter’s first meeting.
> 
> Enjoy!

There is this thing about natural instincts, intuition, or whatever you wanna call it. You can (almost) always trust it and it never abandons you.

Unlike people.

People leave, even if you don’t want them to.

They lie and cheat and disappoint, even if they are your closest friends or your family.

They say one thing, and mean another.

Granted, your intuition can steer you wrong from time to time as well, but Stiles has always been able to trust his gut feeling, whether in regards to places or people. Especially, the latter. In fact, so far his first impression about certain individuals has been dead on.

Like he knew from the first time he met Jackson, that the guy is and always will be an obnoxious ass. They have known each other for years and he hasn’t changed one bit. He is still a spoiled, rich brat, who likes to bully all the kids who aren’t as privileged as he is, and, no surprise there, like to read and study their asses off in order to get into college instead of buying their way in. How Danny can be friends with someone like Jackson is still beyond him. Then again, Danny is friendly to pretty much everyone, including Greenberg. And who knows how much worse Jackson would be without the influence of his best friend …

And then there is his chemistry teacher. It’s pretty obvious, that there is something not quite right about him. The others might not notice it, or simply don’t care enough to pay close attention to Mr. Harris, but Stiles does. Sure, he understands that teaching a bunch of hormonal teenagers isn’t always easy, but to question one’s choice of career each and every day, _out loud_ , that’s not normal. Neither is the way, he suddenly seems to get all twitchy whenever they deal with certain chemicals during experiments. Stiles might not have found out why Mr. Harris acts the way he does, what he’s hiding, but it’s only a matter of time.

There are a few others – a neighbor, a classmate’s single parent, a nurse at the hospital – who set his instincts on high alert, but since he can’t actually go to his dad with just a gut feeling and no real evidence, he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

On the bright side, he doesn’t _always_ need to rely on his sixth sense. Some people are pretty easy to read, like Scott for example. Sure, he is a doofus most of the times, but a loveable one. He is kind and caring and loyal, character treats he’s definitely inherited from his mother and not his deadbeat dad. True, Scott may not understand the whole ‘bros before hoes’ thing, but then again, Stiles can’t really fault him for that. After all, he isn’t the most forthcoming person these days either.

Anyway, the point is that Stiles rarely ever ignores his instincts, and right now they are practically screaming at him.

Fight or flight.

Fight or flight.

Yes, there isn’t actually something or someone to fight, that’s just arguing semantics. The point is, that Stiles isn’t used to feeling this way, being torn, utterly conflicted about what he should do.

Don’t misunderstand; it’s not just about doing the _right_ thing, because if it were, he would do what any reasonable person would do in his situation. He would just turn around and run away, like the last time. He would go home and fix dinner for his dad and himself, and simply forget about this place.

No, this is about what _he_ feels is right.

Stiles can’t just leave, not after all the trouble he went through getting here. Okay, maybe it hasn’t been _that_ hard, but he had put a lot of thought into his plan and he’d hate to have all of his efforts go to waste. It would be like suddenly not caring about his dad’s diet. And besides, it’s sheer impossible to ignore the voice in his head, the one that has kept persuading him for days to come back here.

But in the end it’s not up to him to make the choice whether he should stay put or take off.

 

\+ + + + +

 

Stiles probably would have spent another twenty minutes or so routed in place, staring at the door, contemplating his options, if it hadn’t been for the sudden increase of noises coming from the house, telling him that whatever has been hiding inside a week ago, was still there and had a change of mind, deciding it’s time to make an appearance.

At first, he can only hear the same growling and scraping noises like the last time he was here. They are a bit unnerving, sure, gaining in volume the longer he stands there, but they are not truly terrifying. Even when the door, which is in fact only ajar and not completely open, makes this super creepy creaking sound, reminding Stiles of all the stupid horror flicks he used watched and laughed at with his dad, he doesn’t pee his pants. But there is no denying the truth that his heart definitely misses a beat or two when the door swings open, revealing a large dog.

Well, what looks like a dog.

It has four legs, shaggy, dark fur, and a mouth full of sharp teeth, but it’s huge, certainly bigger than a German shepherd.

When he was a kid Stiles always wanted to have a dog, preferably a Labrador or a Golden Retriever, because they are the perfect family dog – friendly, intelligent and utterly loyal. He could never stand those yappy little dogs that fit into a handbag. To him they are nothing but overgrown rats.

But unfortunately his mother was allergic, so his wish remained unfulfilled. And after her death Stiles didn’t dare to bring the subject up again. It just felt wrong, like he was trying to replace one family member with another. His dad probably would have said no anyway, not exactly trusting a ten-year-old to take care of himself much less an animal.

Nevertheless, whenever he saw himself with a dog, Stiles imagined a cute, fluffy puppy that would sleep at the feet of his bed, cuddle with him in front of the TV or play fetch with him in the park. Sure, most dogs outgrow their puppy state at some point, but no matter how hard he racks his brain, Stiles can’t recall a breed that would get _this_ big. If he didn’t know any better, he would say the creature standing on the porch is a wolf. For the first time Stiles regrets not bringing Scott with him. He probably would know.

But wolf or overgrown dog, what does it matter? The damn thing is still baring his teeth at him, growling menacingly. For a split second Stiles actually considers taking flight, but he discards the idea almost immediately, because it’s just plain dumb. Even if Stiles wasn’t a klutz, he probably wouldn’t even make it to the tree line before the creature would tackle him from behind and maul him to death.

He can already picture the engraving on his headstone. It wouldn’t say ‘Here lies Stiles, beloved son and awesome friend. May he rest in peace.’, no, it would probably be something along the line ‘Here lies Stiles. He was killed by his own stupidity. He had it coming.’.

Needless to say, becoming someone’s shoe toy and ending up with the worst headstone in history has never been on Stiles’ bucket list. There are a lot of items on it, though, like traveling the world and losing his virginity. Maybe not in that order, but that’s not the issue right now. If he wants to make it out of here in one piece and avoid unnecessary humiliation, Stiles needs to be careful and smart about everything. And maybe it’s easier said than done given the fact that he probably reeks of it, but he knows he can’t show any fear.

Taking a deep breath and putting on a brave face, Stiles takes a cautious step forward, purposely ignoring the answering low pitched growl.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says in a soothing voice, holding his hands up in a placating manner. Maybe it’s pointless talking to an animal, considering that it probably can’t understand him anyway, but it’s all he can think of right now. And if there’s one thing Stiles is good at, it’s talking. Unsurprisingly, the lupine dog doesn’t look or sound very convinced, still baring its teeth at him. “You don’t believe me? Okay, let me prove it to you.”

Without making a big deal out of it, Stiles kneels on the ground and empties his pockets, doing the same with the contents of his backpack. Predictably, when the pocketknife clatters to the floor, barely missing the screen of his cell phone, he receives another volatile reaction.

“Shit,” Stiles grimaces. “Okay, so maybe bringing a knife is probably not the best way to prove my good intentions.”

Not even thinking about it twice, he picks up the knife and tosses it across the yard.

“See,” he grins, suddenly feeling a lot like Hiccup trying to win Toothless’ trust by showing him that he isn’t like the other Vikings from his village. “It’s all gone now.”

The wolf clearly doesn’t share his amusement but at least he has calmed down somewhat. Which is a relief, but at the same time it is bit disconcerting, because that means the wolf knows what human weapons look like and what they can do. It breaks Stiles’ heart to think someone would try and hurt such a beautiful specimen of the Canidae family.

Maybe it doesn’t really make sense, since there are no wolves in California, but calling the animal a dog just seems wrong, at least to Stiles. It’s obvious that he is no runaway. For one, as far as Stiles can tell, there is no collar around his neck, but more importantly he seems too feral, too untamed and too comfortable in this environment. He could never have belonged to a human family.

Clearly no longer considering Stiles a threat (as if he ever did) the wolf jumps of the porch and saunters over.

Stiles may not be one hundred percent sure about the animal’s genus, but there is no doubt in his mind that he’s dealing with a male, and not a female. The way he moves, slowly yet sure, exuding confidence and power with each step he takes, never breaking eye contact, says it all.

As a matter of fact, he behaves like he owns the place and knows exactly who is in charge here.

And for all intents and purposes, it’s true. For one, it’s not like the remaining Hales have come back to reclaim what’s rightfully theirs, so why shouldn’t he take advantage of the situation and make the ramshackle house his den? And as for the other part … well that’s pretty much self-explanatory. Even if he wasn’t still on his knees and unharmed, Stiles doesn’t stand a chance against those sharp teeth and claws. In other words, he is completely and utterly at the wolf’s mercy.

And the wolf seems to know that, too.

Instead of charging him, the wolf keeps his slow pace, circling Stiles twice, sniffing at his backside and the things scattered on the forest floor, before finally sitting on his hind leg across from him.

“You are not going to eat me, are you?” Stiles asks, his voice quivering slightly.

The wolf just stares back at him for a few moments, before he responds with a snort and a full-body shudder, like the mere thought of taking a bite out of him is appalling. Of course, Stiles takes comfort in the fact that he (probably) won’t end up being the wolf’s dinner, and yet he still can’t help but feel a little offended by the wolf’s reaction. There may not be a lot of meat on his bones, but his skin is soft and flawless, well except for the numerous moles covering his body like a star constellations. And yes, he may be a little sweating right now, but he generally cares about his personal hygiene. Unlike most male teenagers he showers daily, sometimes even twice. And while he might wear his socks two days in a row, he changes his underwear every day. So, all things considered, the wolf should be glad that someone like him stumbled into his territory and not someone like Greenberg.

Then again, Stiles is probably just misreading things. The wolf probably just had to sneeze. But still, the way the wolf reacts to him, Stiles can’t shake the feeling that the wolf understands every word he says, which is pretty unnerving. Too bad, he can’t expect a real answer in return. Stiles may be good at reading people, but animals … not so much.

“Well, okay then,” Stiles sighs, feeling completely out of his depths. The wolf may be calm right now, but that could change at a moment’s notice. “It was nice meeting you, but obviously you don’t want me here. So I’m just gonna get my stuff and leave.”

Predictably, when Stiles tries to pick up the bag of beef jerky he found hidden in the cupboard behind the coffee – and he is so going to have a word with his dad about that – the wolf growls again, clearly not agreeing with Stiles’ plan, or at least part of it.

“Really?” Stiles frowns, holding up the bag. “You want this?”

In response, the wolf licks his snout and wags his tail. Granted, Stiles may not truly be acquainted with any animal language, but this one is pretty easy to interpret. With a shrug, he opens the bag and fishes out a piece of dried meat, holding it out between his fingers. The wolf moves quickly, snatching the meaty goodness from Stiles’ light grasp and wolfing it down. Then he licks his snout again, looking at Stiles expectantly.

“I’m not sure this stuff is good for you, though,” Stiles comments, idly studying the ingredients written on back of the packaging, before offering the wolf another piece. “Then again, it’s probably not good for anyone. But better you and me, than my dad.”

He feeds most of the bag’s contents to the wolf, only saving two or three pieces for himself. He’s never been a great fan of beef jerky, so he doesn’t mind.

The wolf sits so close now that Stiles can practically feel the heat coming from his body. It’s still hard to tell if the fur is black or simply a deep, dark brown, but its color doesn’t really matter. Stiles just longs to run his fingers through the thick fur, wanting to know if it feels as soft as it looks. Actually, he wants to cuddle the shit out of the wolf, because in spite of intimidating persona he displays, it’s obvious that the wolf is lonely and in great need of some company.

Crushing the empty bag in one hand, Stiles reaches out with the other. Clearly anticipating his intention and not approving of it at all, the wolf growls and bears his teeth at him again. Not wanting to lose a finger or two just to satisfy his curiosity, Stiles snatches his hand away.

“Okay, okay, no touching,” he acknowledges with a somber nod. “I get it. I don’t like strangers touching me either. Especially, old ladies pitching my cheek and telling me how cute I am. Actually, there should be a law against it.”

The wolf makes a noise that almost sounds like laughter, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. But then again, maybe that’s just Stiles’ imagination.

They sit together for another hour or so, sharing all the food and water, Stiles brought with him. And even though the wolf isn’t precisely great company, Stiles feels content for the first time in months. He doesn’t even feeling the need to fill the silence with words. It’s nice just sitting there, enjoying the peace and quiet. Sure, the location still gives him the creeps, but he is barely looking at the house. He spends most of the time watching the wolf, trying to decipher the hidden meanings behind his behavior. He looks comfortable enough, sitting next to him, but whenever he isn’t watching Stiles, his eyes seem to scan the entire area, like is expecting someone or something to jump out of the bushes and attack them. Not having another choice, Stiles shrugs it off. It’s probably just some sort of territorial behavior.

When it’s time to leave the wolf doesn’t try to stop him this time. In fact, he doesn’t show any sign how feels about it, simply watches Stiles getting his stuff together and shoulder his backpack.

“Well, this was fun,” Stiles exclaims, wiping his hands off on his jeans. “So, what do you think? Should we make this a regular thing?”

He doesn’t expect a real answer, of course, but perhaps a bark or even a growl, something to let him know where he stands. But the wolf just cocks his head and looks at him with a blank expression, like he still isn’t sure what to make of him.

“I won’t come back, if you don’t want me here. And I’m going to tell anyone, promise.”

Once again, the wolf shows almost no reaction, just huffs. Disappointed, Stiles turns away, not wanting the wolf to see how deeply his indifference is hurting him. Maybe it’s stupid and childish and kinda rash to feel that way, but the thing is, for some reason Stiles already feels connected to the wolf, even though they’ve just met.

Not expecting it, Stiles is actually startled, when the wolf suddenly bumps his head against his thigh and starts licking his left hand. The temptation to reach out and ruffle his fur in return is strong, but Stiles restrains himself, just barely. They may have made some progress, but they are not there yet and he doesn’t what to jinx it by doing something he isn’t sure the wolf is on board with. One step at the time.

“I knew you liked me,” Stiles smirks, cheekily. The wolf just huffs again and starts pushing him towards the woods. “I’m going, I’m going. I’ll try to be back on Sunday, but I can’t make any promises. Though next time, I’ll definitely bring something better to eat.”

The prospect of more and better food earns him a bark this time, a one that sounds like ‘Hell, yes’.

“Be safe,” Stiles calls over his shoulder, before walking back the way he came.

Only when he arrives back home, safe and sound, Stiles realizes that he didn’t even introduce himself to his new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, was it worth the wait?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the major delay.
> 
> Basically, this is just a transitional chapter. Unfortunately, there is no interaction between Peter and Stiles, but the story will progress faster from now on.
> 
> Enjoy!

Stiles crawls out of bed around ten.

After more than eight hours of rest, he shouldn’t feel this exhausted. But here he is, barely able to keep his eyes open, stumbling into his bathroom to take a shower. Standing under the spray he tries to remember what his dreams were about, but as always he can’t seem to recall the specifics, just some vague images and the general mood, neither of which are very helpful or comforting. In fact, whatever his unconscious mind had come up with during his REM sleep still seems to have some latent effect on him.

For some reason, he can’t stop shivering even though the water is hot, practically scolding. He squirms and fidgets, which is nothing new considering he suffers from ADHD and did forget to take his medicine the day before, but still, it feels different this time. It almost feels like he should be doing something else, be somewhere else, but he has no idea what or where that is. Part of Stiles wants to get dressed, put on his running shoes and pretend to go jogging through the woods, only to make a detour towards the Hale house and check on his new friend. And while that thought seems to put his mind more at ease, it’s still doesn’t seem to be the root of his inner unrest.

Sure, Stiles could stay under the shower and continue to rack his brain, trying to come up with an explanation, but after the fitful night of sleep he had it’s unlikely that he will figure it out anytime soon. And his dad will probably kill him if he uses up all the hot water. He is already taking much longer than he usually does, well whenever he is not jerking off that is …

There’s a thought.

Maybe all he needs is an orgasm. It probably won’t take much stimulation, considering his morning erection hasn’t flagged completely and it’s been a while. Two days to be exact, which seems like an eternity. Don’t judge him. He is a healthy sixteen-year-old. Getting off on a daily basis is normal for a boy his age, and it’s his only option for getting any sexual release. Maybe if he wasn’t single, he wouldn’t do it that often. Yeah, right, who is he kidding? He probably would get even more addicted to the sensation. And why shouldn’t he? Having an orgasm always feels fantastic. Okay, maybe not after the fifth time in a row. Yes, he did that, once, all in the name of science, of course, but that’s a story for another time. The point is, right now he needs a distraction, something to make him feel better.

Wrapping his right palm around his dick, Stiles gives it one, slow, experimental stroke. He lets out a deep-felt sigh of pleasure and closes his eyes. Yes, this is exactly what he needed, that warm tingling feeling washing over his body which has nothing to do with the hot water running down his back. A part of him wants to draw this out, tease himself for hours. Sure, he likes it rough and fast too, but after discovering how gratifying it can be to bring himself close and then stop, taking a short reprieve before starting the entire process over and over again, until he simply can’t take it anymore and lets himself go, Stiles can definitely say that he has a thing for edge play. (Yes, he knows what it’s called. Just check his internet history.)

But now is not the time or the place to indulge himself in one of his (many) kinks. Maybe later, when he is alone and not pushed for time …

With his eyes closed, it’s so easy to imagine that it’s someone else’s hand on him and not his own. Stiles may not have any experience but he has a very vivid imagination. He doesn’t even question himself anymore why he continues to envision himself with someone of the same gender instead of the opposite. As long as it gets the job done, he doesn’t care. And it works perfectly, better even. So what if that makes him gay? It’s not like that’s a bad thing. Some people may think it is, but Stiles is not one of them. And it’s not like he fantasizes about one of his classmates, which would certainly make things awkward at school.

No, it’s always someone without a face, but clearly older and experienced, someone who knows exactly how to touch Stiles to make him come in record time. It’s someone who enjoys whispering filthy things into his ear, praising him for being a good boy … is there such a thing as having too many kinks?

Bracing himself against the tiles with his free hand, Stiles tightens his grip and quickens his strokes. His cock is so hard right now it’s literally throbbing in his hand. He lets out a string of throaty moans when he exerts pressure on his tip with each upstroke, allowing himself to get completely lost in the feeling and his fantasy.

‘Come for me,’ the faceless figure commands and that’s all it takes.

Biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his groan, Stiles comes, long and hard, all over his fist. Completely wrung out, he slumps against the tiles, giggling when he discovers that some of his spunk even landed there. Trying his best to get his breathing back under control, Stiles quickly washes off the evidence and finally turns off the water. Still slightly wobbly on his feet, he steps out of the shower and reaches for the towel. He quickly dries himself off and finishes the rest of his morning routine within five minutes, before returning to his room to get dressed.

The hot shower and orgasm definitely helped. He feels much calmer now. There is only one thing missing to make his morning even better.

Coffee.

On his way out he grabs his laptop and the charger. Once in the kitchen, he puts on a pot and sits down at the table with a box of blueberry flavored Pop-Tarts, waiting for his computer to boot and the coffee to finish brewing.

 

\+ + + + +

 

Stiles has just finished his third cup, when his dad joins him in the kitchen.

“Morning, son,” he says, sounding way to chipper for someone who has been on the late shift for two weeks in a row and probably hasn’t slept for more than six hours. “What are you doing?”

“Homework,” Stiles mutters, not even bothering to look up to greet his dad, too engrossed in his reading. He may have started this last night, but he is far from done, finding more and more information on the net.

“Researching wolfs?” his father comments from behind him, getting himself a coffee. Under different circumstances Stiles may have closed his laptop and fled the kitchen, but as far as researching topics go, studying wolf migration across the US map is nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s not like he is watching porn. Okay, maybe he watched some videos about wolf mating earlier and for some weird reason he did get a little excited, but that’s neither here nor there. Certainly, nothing his father needs to know or worry about. “I thought you didn’t have Biology this year. Or are you trying to follow in Scott’s footsteps and help Deaton out at the clinic?”

“Hardly,” Stiles snorts. “Deaton can barely effort to pay Scott a decent salary. And anyway, he wouldn’t hire me. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

It’s true. The few times they met, the veterinarian was curt and aloof, basically ignoring Stiles’ presence. And yes, there are a lot of people in Beacon Hills who treat him like he is a nuisance, but somehow it seems like Deaton _really_ doesn’t like being around Stiles. Like his presence makes him physically uncomfortable. But maybe he is just projecting again, because, truth be told, the feeling is mutual.

“What’s not to like? You are full of life, outspoken and curious.”

“That’s what I keep telling people,” Stiles laughs out loud, somewhat shocked but mostly amused that his father didn’t use words like hyperactive, cheeky and nosy to describe some of his main character traits. His dad may not appreciate all of his quirks, especially when he mouths off to him, but it’s obvious that he loves his son all the same.

“So, why this particular topic if it’s not for school or a part-time job?”

“Why does it have to mean anything?” Stiles replies with a shrug, closing his laptop. “I’m just broadening my fields of interests. Who knows when it might come in handy … I might go camping somewhere where there are still wolves.”

“Uh-huh,” his dad mumbles, taking another sip of his coffee. It’s obvious he doesn’t buy Stiles’ excuse, at least not completely, but like always he drops the subject instead of drilling his son with more questions, some Stiles probably wouldn’t be able to answer without giving _something_ away. “So, what’s your plan for today?”

“Finishing my homework, doing some laundry, maybe fix my bike …”

“Your bike?” his father frowns. “Is there something wrong with Roscoe?”

“No, Roscoe is fine,” Stiles assures him, smiling when his dad uses the nickname instead of just calling his set of wheels ‘the jeep’. He would happily take credit for the name, but it was his mom who came up with it. And he kept it, and not just because it fits perfectly. “Well, as fine as he can be. He might need an oil change soon. I just think I should take my bike to school from time to time, now that I’m no longer on the Lacrosse team. To keep in shape, you know.”

It’s another excuse, the second one today. He feels bad about it, but it’s not like he can tell his father the truth. Of course, he doesn’t plan to drive his bike to school. Considering how he often runs late in the morning, he actually relies on taking his jeep to school in order to make it on time. No, he has ulterior motives to fix his bike … an easier and faster way to and from the woods.

“That makes sense,” his dad nods, once again unaware that his son is lying to him. Or maybe he just pretends to be oblivious. It’s hard to tell. Watching his dad play poker with his friends taught Stiles never to underestimate his father. He has one hell of a poker face. He is probably just compiling a list, only to charge his son with all the lies at a later time and make him pay, big-time. The thought is kinda terrifying, but on the other side Stiles can always plead the fifths when the time comes. After all, there is no evidence. “You could always join another team, though.”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles snorts. Team sport just isn’t his thing, especially if he isn’t allowed to actually participate. And he doubts it would be different with any of the other teams, considering Finstock coaches all of them.

“Okay,” his dad concedes, practically admitting defeat. He may not say it out loud, but it’s obvious that he is a bit disappointed. And Stiles gets it. Never being able to attend a game and cheer on your son must be such a let-down. It’s not like he can do the same for him bringing home an A+ on the latest test. Well, he could, but it might look silly.

Not knowing what else to add to the subject, Stiles just watches his dad swallow the last of his coffee and put the empty cup into the sink before walking over to the fridge to pull out a small container with some leftover food from Stiles’ last night cooking. “Well, I’ve got to jet.”

The sudden announcement takes Stiles by surprise. It’s only half past twelve. His dad usually doesn’t leave until three. “Why?”

“I’m switching from the late to the middle shift for the next two weeks, so I’m starting earlier today,” his dad explains, quickly adding, “and I have tomorrow off. Which reminds me, I called Melissa yesterday and I invited her and Scott over for dinner. Maybe you could cook some of my Mom’s old recipes.”

It sounds like a suggestion, but it comes over more like a demand. Stiles doesn’t like it. It’s not that he minds having company over or cooking, least of all Polish food, but still, he likes to be included in the planning, especially when it concerns his weekend. But he agrees nonetheless, because it’s the least he can do to make up for all the lies. “Sure. Is Melissa bringing desert?”

“I’m sure she could be persuaded,” his dad smiles. “Just give her a call.”

“I will,” Stiles promises, still not completely on board with this, but willing to play along. He might have had other plans for Sunday, but there are worse things than spending it cooking and having dinner with his best friend and his mother.

On his way out of the kitchen his dad turns around and smirks. “By the way, you’ve got your shirt on backwards.”

“I do? Huh,” Stiles frowns, and then shrugs. “It’s how the kids wear their clothes these days. Inside out. It’s the new chic.”

“Yeah, right,” his dad laughs. “Enjoy your day.”

“See ya,” Stiles mutters, already busy making a grocery list.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a bit shorter, I know, but I wanted to give you something, and maybe the little smut scene makes up for the delay *pouts and blinks innocently*. Next: More Piles or Steter, whatever you wanna call it. I prefer Piles, because it sounds like a pile of Stiles and Peter, you know like cuddling werewolf style.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
